Vignettes of Family Secrets
by DramaticPirate
Summary: A series of moments in Charles de Chagny's childhood. Centering around Charles, Christine, and/or Raoul with some dashes of Erik. AKA all the moments I wish I included in "Charles." More information inside!
1. Those Eyes

_**A/N: I wrote the story "Charles" a short while ago and I was thinking about all the scenes I wished I had put in that story. That story establishes a lot of dynamic and setting, so I recommend reading it for information, but you can very well read this one without checking it out. This is a collection of one-shots from Charles' childhood that can focus on either Charles, Christine, or Raoul. Erik is involved but very much dead, so he is present only in allusions and memories. In both stories I draw from Susan Kay's novel as well as ALW's musical. Thank you for reading!**_

Family had been flocking in from all over to congratulate the Vicomte and his wife on their son. Christine would joke that Charles was not even a year old and already had plenty of adoring fans. Even Raoul's parents, who were hardly the affectionate type, were dazzled by him. They extended their weekend visit to an entire week to stay around him. By the end Charles' cheeks were pinched until they were bright red. When they finally left they both stuck their heads out of the window to wave goodbye to them. When Christine moved Charles' arm in a mock wave they practically swooned. Raoul was in a fit of laughter as they reentered the home.

"Amazing," He clutched his stomach, "I have never seen them like that in my entire life! Did you know when I was a child, the best reaction I got from them was a light chuckle. That was the most pleasant visit from my parents I have ever had."

"I'm glad you had fun," Christine sank into the arm chair by Charles' crib, "I have never been more exhausted. I was worried they were going to eat him. I'm more tired than when Charles was first born."

Raoul bent down to kiss her cheek, "You were wonderful." He rose to tuck Charles in. The boy was tuckered out, more exhausted than his mother. Raoul placed his plush cat beside him and in less than two seconds, he was asleep. Raoul was about to leave when he noticed Christine was starting to fall asleep herself. He grinned a little bit, "Don't relax too much yet, the Girys have just written to us. They are stopping by tomorrow."

"Oh god," Christine rubbed her brow, "I love them more than anything, but I need some time. A recovery period? Anything?"

"I did not even know that Madame Giry left the opera house."

"Only so she can torment me."

* * *

Christine was awoken with a sudden jolt. Her vision was blurring into focus and she saw Raoul struggling to put his tie on correctly.

"Christine, they are here!"

She buried her face in the pillow, "Not possible... it can only be seven... maybe eight in the morning."

"It's half past noon, I thought you needed to sleep in."

Christine shot up out of bed, frantically getting dressed. She even left a hair brush stuck in her curls, "Half past noon! Charles, is he-"

"Changed, fed, and taking a nap. I am quite capable." Raoul pulled the brush out of her hair smiling. "These are your friends Christine, for once we do not have to be perfectly done up."

A cane boomed from down the stairs, "Madame and Monsieur Vicomte, where is this little Charles?"

Christine ran down into her Mme Giry's arms. She missed her so much. It had been over a year since she saw her last. Mme Giry smiled, "I missed you too Christine. You look stunning. Being a Vicomtesse is treating you well."

"Oh please, I still have the sleep in my eyes. Meg?" Her best friend came through the door looking disheveled.

As Meg hugged her friend she had to take a step back, "Excuse me, the ride here did not agree with me."

"As long as you're here. Would you like me to get you some tea?"

"Oh no no I am perfectly fine. I just want to see your son."

Raoul went up to shake Meg's hand, "It's great to see you both, but we just put him down for a nap. Please, let us get you some refreshments."

* * *

The party moved to the sitting room. As much as Meg tried to disguise it she was very happy to be sitting somewhere stationary.

"...I'm still dancing, there is a company here for a little while that we have joined up with. We just did a production of that new ballet, Swan Lake."

"I heard that's remarkable! Raoul, we must go see them as soon as we can." Christine still missed performing. She and Raoul both knew it. However, Christine was afraid that even if she got up on a stage again, she did not know if she would able to sing another note.

"We are here until the end of the month." Meg smiled proudly.

Raoul's eyebrows furrowed, "Are you leaving?"

Meg looked around nervously, "Well, the company was only touring in Paris. They are actually based in London, and I think we are going to go with them. Everything else has been changing here, we thought we should too."

"Oh," Christine did not want her best friend to leave but it was understandable. Raoul and she lived out in the outskirts of Paris, more isolated, but still close. Sometimes she was tempted to pick up and move away too, "That's exciting Meg. I will miss you."

Meg put her hand on Christine, "And I will miss you so much too. You are my best friend! I'm just happy we will have this time together before I go."

A maid burst through the door with Charles on her hip, "Um, excuse me Madame, but Charles has just woken up. I think he wants some attention." The maid laughed nervously.

"Actually this is perfect timing," Raoul stood up, "Here is the little nobleman. With all his visitors he is starting to be a little prince." Raoul took Charles from the maid and starting bouncing him up and down, earning him a giggle. Raoul gently placed him down on the floor between himself and his guests.

Meg immediately was taken with him, sitting down next to him to play, "Oh Christine he is beautiful!"

Even Mme Giry bent down to see him, "Yes. He has your curls. Has he been as tiring to you as you were to me?"

Christine laughed and moved to sit with her friends, "I was older when I came to live with you, I was allowed to be a little mischievous."

Both Meg and Mme Giry did a double take, "Wow, those eyes. They're practically glowing."

Mme Giry gave Christine a curious look, "Such a unique shade. Amber."

Christine ducked her head and feigned distraction. Her gaze never went back to meet her friends, she only gave a half hearted answer, "Hm? Oh yes." She especially did not want to look at Raoul who was tense in his posture. Since Charles' birth they had practiced ignorance enough that they had almost convinced themselves of the edited reality.

"Curious. How did he get such a color? I've rarely seen this color before." Christine just shook her head. Please stop Mme Giry. Please. Stop. Meg, catching on to her mother's comment and shift in attitude stared at Charles and her mouth dropped ever so slightly.

Quickly, sensing her friend's distress, grabbed her mother's wrist, "Mother, how about you tell them about Monsieur Bazin. Raoul, you will love this, Bazin used to be a sailor and then decided he had a passion for ballet!"

Christine and Mme Giry glanced at each other once before Mme Giry gave into her daughter, "Yes, he is surprisingly graceful."

* * *

They had stayed up late that night drinking and exchanging tales. The mood had remained altered ever since the Giry's observation. The conservation was always steered away from Charles and onto some neutral memory. Still, the night went better than Christine thought it would. Nearly escaping from disaster, her life motto.

She was just leaving Charles' nursery to return to her room. Raoul had already fallen dead asleep. He rarely ever has an excuse to relax so this company was definitely needed. Granted, his drinking increased with the tension. Christine rounded the corner when she saw Mme Giry leaning against the wall staring out the window.

The moonlight kept the hall illuminated, but there was still no deciphering Mme Giry's face, "How could you not tell me, Christine?"

Christine inhaled, "Tell you what?"

There was a sigh and Mme Giry turned to face Christine, "Please, you are a daughter to me, do not lie. Your son's eyes Christine. We both know whose those belong to."

Christine pressed her forehead against the wall, "Please let this go."

"Keeping this in will not help anyone."

"It has worked up until now. Raoul and I do not need any questions."

"My dear, the questions will not stop when Meg and I are gone. I have a feeling they did not start tonight either. What about when he is older, there are behaviors and things that you will not be able to explain away. How can anyone ignore it. It's too unusual-"

"It's a mutation?" Christine gazed blankly. Mme Giry paused, and for a moment looked apologetic.

In an attempt of comfort Mme Giry lightly placed her hand on Christine's back, "I am so sorry you are dealing with this. I know you love Raoul but I think... Charles' father deserves to know."

Christine had to cover her mouth to keep from breaking out into hysteric laughter, "Oh yes, I will go to him at once. He deserves to know." She just shook her head, "He's dead. Long gone. Before Charles was even born in fact."

For the first time ever, Christine saw Mme Giry become confused, "Dead?"

"I was there when it happened. Cremated him in a one woman funeral."

"I just assumed..."

"Well you assumed wrong." Her eyes were watering, "That's why I went back. He wrote to me, you know. Told me he feared that he was at the end of the line and needed to see me one more time. Can you believe it?"

"But why go back? After everything, you gave him more than you needed to, why go back again?"

Christine just looked at her. She opened her mouth to say something but the words would not come out. The real secret, hidden beneath Christine's own growing collection, would not allow itself to be heard, not yet.

"Oh." There was no response to that silence. Then Mme Giry held Christine, "You have suffered so much, and still so young. Do not worry, I will keep your secret."

"What secret?" Christine sobbed, "You said it yourself, I can not explain Charles away. Even in death, he's still here."

* * *

It was a peacefully weekend. Christine had missed being around other artists, and Meg was a huge comfort in this drastically new life. Even Raoul let his hair down, so to speak. When the Girys departed there were plenty of hugs and promises of visits in the future, even if London was across some water.

Mme Giry gave Christine a tight hug and whispered in her ear, "Be happy my dear, you have earned it."

"Any more visitors?" Christine wearily asked Raoul.

"None. Just you and me and-" Charles' cries echoed through the halls, "And a little prince who wants some attention."


	2. Little Divo

Raoul and Charles were eye level. Well, to be more specific, they were both ground level. Raoul was lying on the floor trying to keep Charles' attention in their high stakes game of bouncing a ball back and forth. Most of the time Charles would just roll it back with an inquisitive look. What was his father trying to get out of this? After much tiresome work, from Raoul's perspective, Charles finally relented and gave a respectable bounce back to his father. Seeing Raoul's enthusiastic reaction Charles started clapping. Another bounce back and Charles picked it up and chucked the ball straight onto Raoul's face.

"Ow!"

"I told you." Christine was laughing from the doorway. Hearing his mother's laughter, Charles assumed he must have done well and a proud look grew upon his face, "You look absurd."

Raoul was still rubbing his nose, "I've been betrayed. Bamboozled."

She held out her hand, "He's hardly two, I doubt he understood what you were trying to do."

"Oh he caught on. Look at him! So smug in victory." Raoul picked Charles up and spun him around, "But who is taller, hm?"

"You're truly showing him."

"When he gets taller than me, he will be allowed to beat me in sport." He made a mock angry face, scrunching up his nose and eyes.

Christine kissed his cheek, "You're terrifying."

Charles looked between both of his parents. Ah, this must be a good moment, papa is smiling. Charles giggled, "Ya!"

"See, he thinks so."

Christine just shook her head, "You two should come outside, it is a beautiful day. I felt holed up all last winter."

Raoul swung Charles up to his shoulders and followed Christine outside. It had been a long time since the skies were this clear. The winter hard been harsh and unpredictable bringing on more stress than necessary to the house staff. Raoul was being called in and out of town to check up on businesses seaside, so he was home sporadically. Charles had been burning up an awful fever near the holidays. Christine spent so many nights sleeping the chair in his room that they had to set up a temporary bed for her. Even after Charles' health returned, Raoul was paranoid about keeping Charles clean and warm. Finally when the heat came back Raoul felt the need to monitor Charles in the grass and trees to see its harmlessness. Christine, in living with so many others in the opera house, was used to sickness. She thought that Raoul would be too based on all his time in the sea, but he was just so overly protective.

She kicked her feet together as she lied down on the grass, "Ah, the dangerous outdoors."

Raoul just gave her a sidelong glance. To prove his newfound resilience he put Charles down to allow him to wonder around the fields. He gestured showing her how confident he had become, she just smiled in response. Charles would stand up and walk a few steps, even trying to run a little bit. Every time he would lose his footing and fall a little Raoul would flinch. Christine secretly took a little joy in seeing Raoul so nervous. He always tried to prove how brave he was to her, especially in their childhood. Old habits die hard.

"We run! We run!" Charles was giggling as he ran around his mother.

Raoul had to resist the urge to reach out, "How about we slow down a little?"

"No!"

"Let him be Raoul, as long as we can see him, he will be fine." Raoul gave a low growl in response.

"Madame, a note has come for you!" The butler stood in perfect posture carrying one of those ridiculous silver trays. It had been years and Christine was still getting used to all these formalities. She got up to take the note, but it was bigger this time. The envelope carried several sheets with the note on top.

"What is it?"

"It is music," Christine scanned the note, "Someone is inviting me to sing at their fundraiser."

She handed the note over to Raoul, "Oh I know this man, an old family friend. A bit eccentric but a nice enough man. What do you say Christine?"

"I don't know..."

"Charles? Should mama sing?"

Charles was now trying to spin himself dizzy, "Ya!"

"He thinks so, so do I!"

"He probably does not even know what you asked him."

Raoul smiled, "I trust his judgement more than anyones. Come on darling, you have not sung in ages. You must do this."

"It is tempting."

"Then it is settled."

Christine rolled her eyes, "Settled. I will write back immediately, and let him know about our entire family's enthusiastic reaction."

Raoul turned back to his son who was on the floor after too much spinning. He walked a few feet away from him and then crouched, "Come on, let's see if you can walk here without falling." He opened his arms in a gesture for Charles to follow.

With more determination than ever before, Charles stumbled back up and stared at his father. At first he was trying to pace himself one foot at a time but the downhill gravity took over and soon he started stumbling into an awkward run towards his father. All of a sudden, Charles' head turned and he stopped moving. He moved his feet to face the backdoor of the house that was left ajar. Then, with all the speed his legs could carry him, and sometimes the use of all fours he moved to go in the house.

"What is it?" He followed him in, overly aware of his Christine's teasing, he tried not to just pick Charles up.

It was not until they were both inside the house that he heard the piano and Christine's voice floating down the halls. Charles mouth spread into a wide grin, "Music!"

Christine was playing a few notes of the score, singing the melody. She heard Charles' clunky footsteps come into the piano room, "Did you get here all by yourself?"

Raoul shook his head in disbelief, "He heard you all the way from outside. We were playing and he just bolted here."

She smiled, "So you like the music my little prince?" Charles started frowning, "What is wrong?"

"Stopped singing."

Raoul threw his head back in a guffaw, "He ran like hell to hear you sing. Amazing."

"Do you want me to keep singing?" Charles sadly nodded in response. Christine sung a few more notes of the song before she heard Charles trying to imitate. It was no nightingale like sound but there were a few coherent "la las" and "oos" every so often. "I think we have another musician in the family. The little prince is a little divo."

"Look at him, he's giddy. I never got this reaction in our ball game." Raoul crossed his arms.

"Papa's jealous," She whispered to Charles as she lifted him up to sit on the bench.

"I am not mad, I am just disappointed." Raoul stuck up his nose, "How did he hear you anyway, I could not hear a sound till I was in the hallway."

Christine just waved him away and said in a mock tone, "You would not understand, you are not an artist."

"I am too! Well - a patron."

"Mama..." Charles was pulling on Christine's arm trying to get her to play some more notes for him.

Raoul just shook his head, "It's clear what side he's chosen."

"Oh go be jealous somewhere else, we have music to make. Don't we, Charles?" Charles nodded fervently and then copied Christine's earlier shooing motion.

"Unbelievable."

* * *

 _ **A/N: It felt nice to do a lighter moment for a change. But if you like the drama and intrigue, do not worry it will be in many other chapters for I am a drama queen myself. As always, thank you all for reading.**_


	3. Le Soleil D'or

"Where is he?"

"The piano room, sir." Raoul had not seen Charles all day today. Sure, he was not a baby anymore but he was only five, nowhere near independent yet.

He sighed, "Has he been there all day?"

"Yes, sir."

As he walked down the hall he heard some notes of lush romantic music coupled with cries of frustration and rage. It was difficult for Charles to accept that he had yet to grow into his adult hands. This led to many frustrations over not being able to play certain chords, an unacceptable tragedy to the budding musician.

"Knock, knock." Raoul stood in the doorway, "May I enter?"

Christine was rubbing Charles back as he put his head down on the keyboard, "His heart is broken. He can not play _Tristan and Isolde_ yet."

"I do not remember you in that opera."

"Oh, I never was." Christine laughed, "Charles has already gone through all my old collections, I had to buy this for him yesterday."

"With all his playing, I am not surprised." Charles still had his head down on the keyboard, trying to control his temper, "Why, _Tristan and Isolde_ that is one romance that did not end well."

"Oh but the music is so beautiful, and it is his favorite."

Charles finally sat back up and in the most commanding voice a five year old can have he stated, "You do not need to talk about me in the third person anymore. I am under control."

Raoul took a few hesitant steps forward, "If you want to take a break for a moment, I have an idea for something we can do today." Charles just let out a light groan.

Christine tilted her head at her son, "Charles, we have been here all day. Maybe some change will clear your head."

He stared at his mother for a moment and then turned to face his father, "What is the plan?"

Raoul took a breath of relief, "I was thinking I would take you sailing."

"Sailing? It would take hours to get to the nearest coast!"

"Trust me, it would be worth it. I think you would love it."

Charles looked back at his mother. He took an even longer glance at the music, "Would we leave tonight and sail tomorrow. I do not think it would be practical to try to sail today, we would get there too late."

"Yes," Raoul smiled, "It would not be practical. I'll get right to packing our things." He went straight up the stairs grabbing what he could to put their bags together. He was not even thinking about the weather or what they would actually need. He actually gasped in shock when he felt arms circle around him.

"I am really glad you two are taking this trip."

"It is only for a night."

"True, but now I have a night off. I am really tired of you." Raoul furrowed his brow at her, "But honestly, he has been in a spin about the piano. There is only so much singing he can do before he gets bored and wants to try something new and have more compositions and so on..."

"I am happy to provide rehabilitation." He lifted her chin to kiss her.

* * *

Charles had fallen asleep on the train ride there. They were pulling in to the station after his bedtime after all. Raoul ended up carrying him to their beach house. Seeing him asleep, one would never guess that this child could have episodes of such rage... and brilliance. Sailing had always calmed Raoul, he hoped it would do the same for his son.

However, when dawn broke and Raoul was shaking him awake and he was greeted by a closed eyed little boy muttering, "Absolutely not."

"Come on, after traveling to get here is it really _practical_ to waste the opportunity."

"Do not trick me," Yet Charles could not help but smile, "But yes." As reluctant as he was to leave Charles was a little bit excited. Granted for every ten seconds of excitement he would be missing his music for another fifteen, but it was a much more forgiving ratio than he predicted.

The sea was pungent. In reality, it smelled completely normal, but Charles could not understand the grin his father would have while taking in deep breaths of this coastal air. It was terrible compared to the perfumed homes and halls Charles was used to back in Paris. Even though Paris was no clean haven, it was what Charles considered home.

"This is our ship. I talked to some friends and today we have it all to ourselves." It was smaller than the other ships in port. It did need to be small enough for two men to sail it, and one of those men was only five. Most of the other ships were meant for cargo, and _Le Soleil D'or_ was a regular old schooner.

"When I was young my father would take me out on this boat. For a while though he only let me clean it." Raoul motioned for Charles to get on board, "Come on, before we set sail take a moment to explore the ship. I am going to have you help out a little bit today."

It was a well crafted ship. The design was clearly strong enough to keep it functional for multiple generations. Charles was impressed. Maybe the day would not be so bad after all.

"Pleased?" Charles just nodded his head, "All right. Time to set sail."

Charles had never seen his father so focused. He was trying to explain everything he was doing but there was a whole vocabulary that he did not understand. After Charles let one of the ropes go Raoul thought it would be best to keep him steering and Raoul himself man the rest of the ship. It was fun. He was actually disappointed when the storm started to come in and they needed to go back to port.

As they walked down the coast Raoul could sense his son pouting, "Is there anything else you want to do before we catch the train back? We have a few hours."

Charles looked back up at his father, "Could we pick up a book? I do not understand many of the words you were using today. What is a 'belt armor'?" He did not like admitting ignorance.

"You will learn all about that in the book. To be honest, I am frankly still confused about it myself." Raoul patted him on the back.

"That way, next time we come out here I will be able to understand what you were telling me to do," Charles laughed, "I can do a little more than steer straight."

"Of course. Before you know it, I'll just sit back and let you take me around."

* * *

The entire train ride back Charles stayed awake just so he could read. Raoul felt very proud of his trip. It was hard for a while having only little things to share with Charles. It came so easy for Christine. They never were distant, Raoul was present more than most fathers, and they had plenty of fun together. Now they could come out here sometimes and just have something between them. He still was under no illusions, Raoul knew that music would always be Charles' great passion. That part of him Raoul could never touch, he did not understand it. But this... this was good.

The train came to a stop, "Look up from the book for a second, we have to walk."

Charles dramatically shut the book and followed his father out of the train. When they got back home Christine was lounging in the parlor stuffing some chocolate wrappers away in a box, "How was it?"

"The port smelled horrible, but the sailing was fun! I saw a whole swarm of fish swimming around the ship!" He ran right by Christine to get to the piano parlor.

Raoul came through the door with their suitcases, "He was leaning over the boat a lot." He looked like he was having a flashback. He leaned down to kiss her cheek.

"Did you have fun too?" She ran her fingers through his hair.

"Yes, he even bought a book on nautical terms. He actually wants to go again and be _outside_. It was fantastic."

"Wow." They were interrupted by the sound of a harsh chord and a slam, "I better go check on that."

Raoul took the few leftover chocolates from the box, "And... the boy is back."


	4. Someone Else

_**A/N: Firstly, thank you for continuing to read all these shorts! For this one I took this scene from a short paragraph out of my "Charles" fic. However, I diverged from a very important plot point I made in that story, so this has become its own narrative. Also, since I try to do some third person omniscient perspective some of the opinions of characters made are what I would think they would think about themselves or each other, not necessarily my point of view. Enjoy!**_

* * *

The artificial light of the chandelier was refracted through the crystal glasses scattered around the lounge. Occasionally there was a gentle clink noise due to a cheers for good health and wealth for all. The moon was rising slowly adding to the glow of the bleached colors of the room. The noise was as gentle as the light for the conversation was never raised above the short lived ring of moderate enthusiasm.

An older man ran his thumb across his uneven mustache, "I told him that if he did not take the deal he was a fool, and as anxious of a man as he is he succumbed, after that it was child's play."

"Of course, Monsieur Dufort was never one for conflict. Even the slightest thing sets his nerves ablaze." Raoul sat on the opposite chair from his father. Every once in a while he made a visit to his parents to make sure he maintained at least the minimum requirement of civility to stay in their good graces. It got much easier after Charles was born. God only knew how much they adored him.

"What about your end? How is the upkeep on our boats? Our the hands slacking off?"

"Hardly, in fact I think they might be overworked. We may need to hire a dozen more for _La Luna._ With the low number of men it has, I do not think it will be able to make the long journey anymore. Demand is increasing, I do not think it can keep up."

There was a low grumble. Raoul knew this meant the request would probably go denied, but his father was feeling too cordial to say no immediately.

"Perhaps," He started stroking his mustache again, "How is my grandson?"

"Fantastic and healthy. He has not had any sickness since he was a baby."

"Are you teaching him the ropes?"

"I take him sailing every so often."

He shook his head, "Not sailing. Are you teaching him how to run a business?"

Raoul sighed, "He is only eight years old father."

Another grumble.

"He is very talented," Raoul tried to divert his father's attention, "He spends almost every day with the piano. It is baffling his level of skill at this age. Christine is always going into Paris to buy him new compositions for his practice. He may make a great pianist or even composer some day."

"Composer!" Raoul's father just laughed, "My son, you need to nip this in the bud. Playing piano is a fantastic hobby, a great way to entertain and charm guests, but not a profession for a de Chagny."

"But-"

"Ah, I can not blame you," He stared down at his tumbler, "It is dear Christine. This is what happens when you marry a singer, my boy."

Raoul gripped at his arm rests, "It is not her fault. It is not anyone's fault. Charles has talent. What is wrong with that? Besides, I am not even inheriting the whole estate and business myself, surely Charles has more options for his life."

"Not for a de Chagny," The tone had turned dark, "Marry a chorus girl? Fine. Christine is beautiful and has held up surprisingly well in our world, but she was not _born_ into this family, Charles was. If he is to be a de Chagny there are certain rules he must live by. You know that, you played them rather well."

"Perhaps it is time for me to go." Raoul did not wait for his father to follow him out.

"Perhaps it is."

* * *

Raoul was acting strange all night. Christine had hoped this attitude would change after some sleep. She knew that he had visited his parents yesterday. While she knew they were not warm people Raoul had been getting on just fine with them for a while now. The dark circles under his eyes persisted into the morning. When she asked if he wanted to tell her what had set him off in this strange mood he mumbled something about his father being difficult.

Christine herself was not in the best state. The Palais Garnier had just announced renovations. They were going to completely restructure most of the interior of the opera house. She had not been back for nine years but it was comforting to know that there was some memory of her there. Meg and she carved there names into a corner of the stage. Now that, and everything else would be obliterated. Christine was looking through the papers to see if there was any more information about the renovation. She needed to know what parts would stay. Would she recognize the place at all after it was done?

Finally, she found a small two column article on the matter. The foyer was to be redone and redesigned. The stage was going to be reset and the ceiling repainted. She scanned the article to finally find what she was looking for. The underground was considered useless so it would stay untouched except for some new support beams to be added. Christine leaned back to breathe a sigh of relief. His things would be safe, well as safe as they were after the mob raided the place. She did not even have the faintest inkling of what they may have taken or destroyed. In her mind however, it would always be beautiful.

Her reverie was broken with the sound of running and a slamming door. Shortly after she heard much slower and longer steps follow the same path. It could either be Raoul or the butler. She hoped it was not the latter. Sometimes Charles would lock himself in the piano parlor for so long that he would have the butler bring him his meals there. Christine recently put a ban on that behavior. Last she saw, Raoul was sunning himself in the yard. She walked toward the window to see if he was still there. Sure enough, gone like the wind. She breathed a sigh of relief, Charles had not disobeyed her yet.

But perhaps she spoke too soon. All of a sudden she heard shouting. Those were definitely Charles' and Raoul's voices. It was difficult to make out exactly what they were saying. Should she interject? Christine decided on a compromise. She stood to the side of the doorway, keeping her back against the wall so she would not be seen.

"...It is just the way things are Charles. You can keep playing, you just should start focusing on other things soon."

"We go sailing, is that not enough?"

"Sailing is also just a hobby."

"Is that not what you do?"

"Not exactly-"

There was a gentle thud. Nothing too big, perhaps a whirl of papers? Christine was finding it harder and harder to resist jumping in, but Raoul had already voiced his concern of Charles spending all of his time with her. She personally found it ridiculous but it was harmless to try to give Raoul more opportunity to spend time with Charles, and Charles more independence.

"Whatever you do is stupid!" Charles whined, "It is boring. The family always talks about it. I do not even like our relatives! They know nothing about music."

Raoul sighed, "You can not make a life out of music." Christine furrowed her eyebrows, she had never heard him talk like this before.

"Mama made a life out music! She was a singer, are you insulting her?"

"No, but-"

"Grandfather was a violinist!"

"Charles!" Raoul grabbed Charles, "There are certain responsibilities to being a de Chagny."

"I want to be a musician." Charles pushed Raoul away, "Maybe I do not want to be a de Chagny!"

Raoul's face sank. Christine quickly rushed into the room feigning ignorance, "What is all this? Is everything all right?" Before she could even finish the sentence Charles ran to her.

He wrapped his arms around her and was sobbing, "He wants me to stop playing. I want a new papa, I am nothing like this one!"

She slowly raised her eyes to her husband's, which were now burning, "No. The problem is that he is _too much_ like his father, is that not right Christine?" She could not speak or think. All she did was hold on to Charles and rush out of the room.

How could he say that to her? Who was she kidding, he had every right to say that to her. Christine had been living with the feeling of debt for the past eight years. He stuck by her even though he _knew_ , the both knew what she had done. She wanted to fall apart, but she had to take care of Charles.

He was face down crying on his bed, "Charles, please. Your father was only trying to do what he thought was best for you. He does not want to hurt you."

"Music... is... my life... I can not... give... it up. How... does he... not... understand that?"

"I know, I know. I promise you I will not let that happen. But you have to understand where your father is coming from. Please, this will pass."

Charles wiped away some tears, "Will you talk to him, please?"

Christine sighed, "I will, but you have to apologize," He opened his mouth in protest, "No. I will not here it. You do not have to do it right away, but you must. You said some hurtful things."

"Okay," Charles mumbled.

"Good." One part taken care of, now the next. She knew this would be much harder. As she turned to leave Charles to sulk, he was already waiting for her. His arms crossed.

"Raoul," Christine said hesitantly, "We need to talk."

* * *

One part of him wanted to apologize to her. There was no denying the hurt in her eyes when he said it. But the other part, and the part far more tempting to give in to, was furious. He felt humiliated by his father, his son, and especially by her.

Right now all that was keeping him together was silence. All he did was follow her down to their bedroom. A silent agreement to her request. Good, maybe it would finally be out in the open. No more conversation shifts or dodgy looks.

"You can not take Charles away from his music. I will not let you," Christine's face was blank. Raoul merely scoffed in response, "You know it his life. Telling him he can not be a musician is like taking away a part of his soul. If you do this you will lose him."

Raoul glared, "I never had him." Ah, so anger it was, "He is not my son." The words were a double edged sword, inflicting its points on both him and Christine.

Christine was taken aback, "Why would you say that?"

"It is a simple fact."

"No. It is not. He is your son, stop this." She was shaking. The other part of Raoul was screaming. Stop! Hold her! Apologize!

Raoul started pacing, "Was it lust, Christine? Did you desire him? What drew you back that night? Was it the first time? Were you two just laughing at me behind my back? Or did you just want someone else?"

"I- I do not know what you are talking about."

"Oh come on, stop lying. The bastard is probably laughing at me wherever he is." Raoul opened his arms and gazed out, "You win my clever friend, you truly got the last laugh."

"What do you want me to say?" Christine was incredulous.

"I just want you to admit what you did. The truth! No more lies, no more-"

Christine threw her hands in the air, "The truth? Fine: You are not Charles' father." Her face was a mere foot from Raoul's.

"And..."

"My _Angel of Music_ is." She said those words delicately, almost lovingly. She was fighting back.

Raoul smiled in response, "Is he still around? When I am gone, do you run to him. Telling him how much you miss him?"

"He's dead." Christine whispered.

"Oh," Raoul laughed in surprise, "Then there is a small amount of justice in the world. Did you cry for him?"

Christine looked up at Raoul. This time however, there was something new in her eyes. A fire had been set and she was matching Raoul's fury, "Yes. I cried for him. I loved him." It was a dagger that she never intended to throw in all her life.

"What?"

"I loved him. I saw him because he asked me to. I was more than happy to go because I _loved_ him." She drew those last three words out, "I miss him every day. I still hear his voice. I see him whenever I look at Charles' eyes."

Raoul coughed, "So then, if he did not die you would have left me for him."

Christine just shook her head, "I am sorry. I truly am for hurting you. You can leave me if you want. I will pack up and Charles and I will just go like that. But if you want me to say I regret anything, then you are going to be disappointed."

He was speechless. Before he knew it he was pacing around in the dark. Raoul's hated enemy is surely mocking him from hell. She loved him. She loved that evil man. He had hoped it was only a misplaced loyalty to a man she thought was an angel. But he knew, the way she would gaze at Charles as he played. It would break his heart to know she was thinking of him. He had hoped he had made Charles his own, but now he was doubting everything.

Raoul needed to sort out the facts: Charles was fathered by his worst enemy. Christine loved this man. Raoul loves Christine. Raoul considers Charles his son by bond if not blood. Charles thinks of Raoul as his only father. Christine loves Raoul... unless he just destroyed that. The thing he was certain about was that he could not let them leave.

He practically ran up the stairs hoping Christine was still there. Sure enough, she was sitting on the floor against the bed, crying. Oh god, what had he done.

"Christine..." Raoul kneeled in front of her, "Christine, I am so sorry. Please do not leave."

Without looking up she place her hand in Raoul's, "I am not leaving Raoul."

"I love you, I love Charles, that is all that matters."

"I know."

"Please forgive me, I do not know what I was thinking. I do not care about anything in the past. It is nothing to me. We are a family, and always will be."

Christine looked up at him, her eyes were bloodshot, "Raoul, you should care about this. I betrayed you."

"I forgave you long ago. I was a child today, my father got in my head-"

"Raoul, you do not have to apologize..."

"Yes I do, I hurt you-" He was getting more fervent.

"But you do not deserve this torment."

He looked her dead in the eyes, "And neither do you. I love you Christine, I would do anything for you."

Christine stroked his cheek and smiled, "How did I get so lucky?"

"Your scarf flew into the sea."


	5. Nothing

_**A/N: For this one I wanted to try out first person perspective. More importantly, I wanted to see if I could actually keep my attention span on one person's perspective the entire chapter. For all the other stories I mostly wrote from Raoul's or Christine's point of view, so for this one I just took a drastic leap to Charles. Enjoy!**_

The pain in my neck is what woke me. I had fallen asleep against the foot of the chaise lounge. This is the third time this week I slept in the piano parlor. Luckily, I usually woke up before anyone else and could sneak back to my room before my mother found me. If she knew this was happening, or how often, she would probably set a curfew and lock up the room. I was so close. I just needed to go through it one more time.

I did not tell anyone I was composing, so most of it was scribbled onto scrap paper. If I was lucky, I would find some blank pages I could steal. The weekend father and I spent out on the sea for our annual fishing trip was unbearable this year. It was not that I did not enjoy it, I just knew that my music was just sitting at home, vulnerable. I would tell them soon, I just needed to make sure it was perfect first. If it did not turn out just right my father may bring up my other career options again.

He had not really talked about with me for a while. Just every so often, he would tell me that I should always keep my options open. What really hurt was when he started using "ifs" and "maybes" when talking about my music career. Yes, it made me very angry, but most of the time I just wanted him to be more supportive. God knows the rest of the de Chagny clan looked down on musicians. They were always very polite to mother but I could see how they looked at her. I really hoped she would like this piece.

I snuck upstairs to freshen up before the house awoke. As I left my room I even faked a few yawns and stretches to convince anyone who may see me. I did not realize how big of a disaster I left the room in until I came back. As fast as I could, I gathered up all parts of the song. Some pages were crumpled up or even ripped a little. It took me a second to differentiate which pages I threw away and which just needed some work. I just needed to fix the end of the song. Right now it was just fading out. Were big finishes dramatic or abrupt? Fades always seemed uncomfortable to me.

So I played through the song to try it out. As I got to the end I heard it. Well, not exactly heard, but felt. I am not sure if that makes sense, can one feel an echo?

"Bring the notes together, in a sequence. Quickly rise to forte and do not go back." I played the chords. They had energy and excitement. "Do not slow near the end, hold the pedal and let go." I had to keep my hands from flying off the keyboard. It was a perfect marriage of cacophonies and the gentle hum drum endings. I quickly wrote down my notes. Perhaps I should be alarmed that I was hearing a voice. But it was not quite like the tales of ghosts and horrors. It was more like a little guide. When I was even younger sometimes when I was running around, I would feel myself being pulled in certain directions. One time, it kept me from falling into this ditch. No one could have seen it from the ground, but I heard the voice telling me to slow down. I stopped inches away from it. I had been hearing it the most while I composed. It would help me get out of ruts like this. At first it was unnerving but now I found it rather comforting. Now, I was giddy, laughing at the music. I had actually finished, my first composition. Fine, I was a little bothered that Beethoven was a few years younger than me when he wrote his first piece. Cultural hack.

I can hear people moving around the house. Oh no, they are going to see me coming to breakfast from here. At least they do not know I slept here.

"What happened to your face?" My father's face was mixture of shock and amusement.

My mother just shook her head, "He must have fallen asleep in the piano parlor again." She knew? If I knew that I would not have made so much effort to lie. "Have you mastered everything already? What do you want next?"

"Actually-"

"Perhaps a mature twelve year old is able to go get his music himself, hm?"

"Actually," I was so nervous, I had to whisper it to my mother, "I, um, wrote something." With my head still tilted down, I glanced up at her.

She was beaming, "You wrote your own music?" It was a light whisper back, "Show me after breakfast, okay?"

"Okay." I needed to make sure she loved it first. Then, I would show father and hopefully then he would believe I could be a composer. Waiting through breakfast would be unbearable.

I swear the food came slower than ever before. My foot was tapping like mad underneath the table. My father was talking about some annoying man that reminded him of another annoying man named Farman or Firmin or something. I just could not concentrate. Several times my mother mouthed the word patience across the table from me. As soon as the dishes were cleared I jumped up from my seat.

"Where are you going, you promised me that you were going to help me clear the yard today. The storm last night blew in all kinds of trash. I swear some of this stuff must have come all the way from Paris." I forgot about that promise. Surely, it would not matter if we started a little later.

"I just need ten- twenty minutes at most. I will help. Anyways, do we not have people for that?"

"Charles-"

"I know, there is nothing like the lesson hard work teaches you. But please, twenty minutes?"

He sighed, "Not a second more."

I ran to the piano parlor to start preparing the music. I looked over my shoulder to see if my mother was following me but she was taking her time. Did she not just hear that I only had a finite amount of time? I pulled everything together to look semi presentable. I was sitting eagerly on the bench.

"Is the artist ready?" She sat down and made a overdramatic gesture for me to begin.

My fingers were hovering above the piano shaking. Maybe it was not time to show this to anyone. My nerves were on fire, but then I just started playing. I was overanalyzing every move I was making. There was a moment that I was slightly late to a chord because I was too busy thinking of the previous one. After that, I just wanted to stop playing, but then I just closed my eyes. When I finally finished there was silence. Mother must of hated it, I knew it was too early to show anyone.

Then I turned to look at her. Her eyes were closed, but when she opened them they were watery. No son should ever take pride in making his mother cry but this must be a good sign.

"Amazing. Simply amazing."

I breathed a deep sigh of relief. I thought I was about to turn hysterical. "Thank you. I think I am going to show papa."

"Oh yes we should call him in immediately. But Charles, you should be very proud of yourself. The melody is haunting. I have always been partial to a minor key. And the bridge, Charles, it was just like your f-" She paused suddenly. A look came a cross that I could not quite recognize, "Your grandfather's music." For a moment she looked a little sad, I knew my mother was very close to her father. Her and father would always tell me so many stories about him.

That's how I knew she must have loved it. But now I needed to show father. He would be the deciding factor in whether or not this would be a good day or bad.

Right on cue he called out, "Charles, time is up."

"Raoul, come in here right away." Christine pulled him out of the hallway, "Sit. Charles has something to show you."

"What is going on?" He looked away from mother to me, "Charles?"

I sat frozen at my bench, "I think it would be simpler if I just started." I began again. Again, when I finished, there was silence.

"You wrote that yourself?"

I was still hesitant, "Yes."

My father just smiled to himself. I saw my mother give him a slight nudge. As he walked over to me I braced myself for the worst.

"What do you need?" He stated blandly.

"What?"

"Just tell me what materials you need. We are clearly going to need to buy them in bulk if you are going to compose enough for your own show." I was speechless. At least I thought I was. When I regained consciousness I realized I was hugging, or squeezing, my father. "Do not get too excited, we still have to clean the yard."

I did not even hear him, "I can not wait to tell my friends about this. You know Marie wants to be a singer, maybe if I write some lyrics she could-"

"Who is Marie?"

I blushed, "Oh, no one. You will never see a yard cleaned better."

"Oh, I'm sure. Get changed into work clothes, okay? Five minutes."

"Yes, sir." At this point I would have sat through a dinner with accountants I was so happy. I have never changed into a pair of my old dirty pants so enthusiastically.

Just as I started to pull the door open to leave I heard them. I left the door open ever so slightly so I could listen in. I usually do not pay attention to gossip, but I thought I heard myself mentioned. I am only human, even I fall victim to intrigue.

"Were you there?"

"No, but I read it all in the newspapers, I mean who could forget the famous disaster at the Opera Populaire. To be completely honest that is why I took this job."

"So, is it true?"

"Well there really is no way to say. But there has been plenty of speculation on our lady of the house. Oh if only the press saw the boy after he was born, there would have been an explosion. If he ever went out into the public eye there would be ten different stories on his eyes alone. And now he's composing..."

"Composing?"

"Yes, this morning he was playing it for his parents."

"Wow, well that is what you get for marrying a singer. You know we might be able to make some money. Sell this to a newspaper."

"It's been thirteen years, I doubt people are interested."

"But this is a society family, everyone loves socialite scandals."

"True, but we still need proof. Who is going to believe the help's gossip."

I was confused. I could not make the connection between the Opera Populaire and myself. I knew my mother worked there but I never heard of any famous disaster. If it was only thirteen years ago surely mother was there when it happened. It would make a great story to tell.

I heard my father calling for me again. As I walked out of my room the people I heard talking just looked at me. When I returned their gaze their heads snapped away. It was strange, but people are always making something out of nothing. Yes, I am sure it was nothing.


	6. With You

I was staring at the paper. Honestly, five minutes or five hours may have passed my mind was a blank. The only thing keeping time was my mother's constant humming. We had only written ten bars and were already stuck. She was humming those ten bars over and over again as she lay on the lounge. All of a sudden I heard her let out a yell and so I quickly turned around. She had her hands pressed together in a prayer position over her mouth and her eyes were closed as she took slow deep breaths.

"See, now you understand why I get so frustrated."

"I am not frustrated!" Her eyes snapped open, "I am simply keeping myself calm."

"...So you do not lose your temper?" She was always trying to get me to do breathing exercises. At first she claimed they were for my voice but eventually I found a book of hers on tranquility.

She simply shook her head, "No. I never lose my temper, strictly a male sort of thing." She laughed.

I raised my eyebrows. Composing can be very taxing on the brain and mood. It was nice to kind of give her an exercise in empathy. If I ever said that out loud she would probably just scoff at me and lecture on about the whole motor car Christmas incident. I was just looking at grandfather's motor car to see what sort of parts it uses and if they would work on an amplifier for my piano. I did not mean to take it apart! Also, was I not kind and welcoming in letting her compose with me. I would not let anyone look at my music before I was done for any reason. Granted, one time Marie begged to see what I was working on and I would have shown her, but we were quickly interrupted by my father calling me in for a bath. I swear he was trying to embarrass me. I felt like a cliché fifteen year old, embarrassed of my parents.

I never thought I would compose with anyone but I always caught mother trying to listen in at the doorway. Finally, I _sarcastically_ asked her if she just wanted to write the song, but she looked so happy, I did not know how to tell her I was joking. I just assumed she would give up right away, I do not think she ever composed before. She picked it up so fast and it was rather fun. Well, until ten bars in when neither of us knew what to do.

I slammed my hands on the keys, "Should we just change the key?"

"No, no, no. D-flat major is my favorite. Besides, we have the workings of a great melody." She started pacing around the room, "Perhaps we should step back for the day."

Stepping away from the song would be painful, but not as painful as trying to get through it, so I relented. Besides, mother looked exhausted. If I needed to, I could come back and work on a different project.

As we walked into the hallway it smelled like something was burning.

"Dinner is ready!" I heard my father's voice boom from the kitchen.

Confused, I went directly to the kitchen where my father was fanning a burnt piece of meat enthusiastically. He looked at me proudly, "I made it myself. I decided to let the staff off for the night to give them a much needed break." I looked at my mother and she looked just as horrified as myself.

"I did not know you could cook," I think the meat was supposed to be chicken or something.

"He can not. He tried once long ago. I can still remember the screaming." Mother laughed as she went to inspect our torture device of the night.

"Please," Father shooed her away, "I made delicious chicken. It is a little rough to look at but I packed it with flavor!" Ah, so I was right.

"Can we not just eat leftovers?" Surely the staff would leave something behind.

"Absolutely not." He guided us toward the dining room, "Come on, sit!" As he set the plates down in front of us I plugged my nose and took a bite. It was burnt, chewy, and surprisingly flavor _less_.

My mother was grimacing as she tried to eat politely. "It is better if you hold your nose," I told her. Father was unfazed gobbling away at his piece. For a moment I thought it must be a trick, no human could possibly enjoy this. However his loud burp silenced that thought. There was no mistaking the smell.

Mother started coughing loudly. I thought she was joking at first, the coughs sounded dramatic for humorous effect. However, soon her face started turning red. Father quickly got up to check on her.

"Christine, are you all right?" She motioned for him to sit back down but the fit still continued. She brought the napkin up to her mouth to try to quiet the sound. After a moment it slowed to a stop. "Are you sure you are all right, what was that?"

"I am fine, just a coughing fit." A nervous look came across my mother's face as she glanced down at her napkin. I saw farther bend his head to see and his face went pale.

"I will call for the doctor immediately." Father ran out of his chair.

"Mama?" I said gently, "What is it? Are you all right?"

She glanced in my direction, "I will be fine. Your father is a nervous man he just wants a check up."

"Is there something on your napkin?"

"Do not worry about it, I will be fine." But I saw the red. And that is when I knew she would not be, not for a long time.

* * *

When the doctor came father insisted mother lie in bed but she refused, trying to demonstrate her resilience. I was sent away during the inspection. I could not focus enough to go back to the piano parlor, so I was left strolling around our yard until I knew what was wrong.

From the window, I could see the doctor talking to my parents but could not make out what they were saying. Father put a hand to his mouth while mother just kept her lips in a hard line. It could not be good news. Before I knew it I was outside the door waiting for them to come out. I needed them to extinguish my fears. I wanted them to just tell me I'm paranoid, anything but bad news.

The doctor practically ran into me on his fast exit, "Oh, excuse me."

"Please sir, what is wrong with my mother?" Inadvertently, I grabbed the man by his lapels, canceling out the polite tone.

"I, um, suggest you speak with your parents. I do not feel comfortable disclosing patient information."

"But it is my own mother, sir, please!" He was already freeing himself from my grip and going out the door. I slowly made my way inside to wear my parents were.

Father was staring at mother, he looked so worried. I had never seen him so scared in my life. My mother's face was sympathetic, as if I were the one ill, "Charles, come here." The steps it took to get to her felt like miles. She opened her mouth to speak a few times before she was able to say anything again. "It is a little more serious than I thought. Well, there is um, a problem with my lungs. There is a sort of block, growing and it will make it harder to breathe. I am sure everything will be fine. The doctor said they have a few ideas for helping me." She was lying to me. I knew at as well as she but for my own selfish sake I believed it. There would be a miracle cure and we would be all right.

"Yes, you will be all right. We have strong blood right?" I told myself I was saying it for her at the time, but it was for me.

She smiled, "Yes, strong blood."

* * *

It was almost as if she made it a mission to finish the song from that point. We would spend almost entire days working. But sometimes she would get winded from singing just a few bars. Father tried to take her out on walks to exercise the lungs. As if a proper diet a exercise would stop it now.

The day she could not sing anymore was the hardest for her I think. It was about two and a half months after we got the news. My mother did not like to cry, especially in front of me. When she opened her mouth to sing a G, nothing difficult at all for a trained soprano, only a squeak came out. She tried to sing it ten times over. Her face changed into a look of pure dread. She took gasps of air in desperately trying to restore what had just been lost. Finally she just broke down into tears. She was heartbroken. Father and I had to carry her into bed to slow her breathing. I kicked the wall so hard that night that my toes on the right foot were swollen. That night was the only time that ratty little doctor came back. All he gave was a prescription and an apology.

Eventually, she could not get out of bed at all. I sat by her bedside determined to finish our song. I could not think, no music was coming to me. Everything was silent. But we just needed a few bars here and there. A final bit.

She was breathing slowly, "Do not worry, we will finish it eventually."

"But I do not hear it anymore! I am stuck."

"Hear what? Music."

"Sometimes," I was unsure if I would sound mad, "Most of the time, yes, I hear music. But occasionally it is like a little guide. Like a conscience on my shoulder."

She stared at my quizzically. But a smile grew across her face, "A guide?"

"Sort of."

"Good," She said, "It will help you when I am gone."

I felt a burst of anger. I did not want to think about! I got so frustrated I threw the papers down.

"It is not fair!" I screamed, "There is nothing, no point!"

Ever patient, my mother did not even flinch. She looked at me and reached her hand out to touch my face. Her voice was raspy, hardly a whisper, "I love you. Always will. I will be with you no matter what, even after..."

"No, you will be here alive. You will be at my first performance and all of those that follow." In my head there was screaming. The music had stopped and this had replaced it.

She just continued, "I will be there, even if you do not realize it. You will change the world with your music." Another coughing fit began. I instinctively propped her head up.

When it died down I started to tuck her in, "You need to rest. I will be back when you wake up, okay?"

I did not understand how she could look so peaceful. I was so angry and had nothing to direct my anger at. I did not sleep at all that night. I just stared at the music. For some reason, I got the strange idea that if I could finish the song somehow that would make her better. So I pulled together what I could, and stayed up all night.

Just before the moon was about to fall it was looking complete. I ran to mother's room to show her. I heard father's voice before I rounded the corner.

He sounded rushed and nervous, "Christine, look at me. Keep your eyes open."

I stood in the doorway shocked. This was it. It was not supposed to be though. I finished the piece, she was supposed to be better or at least excited or happy. Now she would never hear it.

She was gasping. When father tried to keep her eyes open for her they would roll around, unable to focus. I reached the bedside slowly unable to take my eyes away but unable to do anything. For a moment mother's eyes focused on me, "Oh, my angel."

"Christine no, stay here." Father held on.

"I can see my angel... He's come back." She was moving around, he had to keep her still.

"You need to stay still. Look at _me_ Christine, please! Stay here!"

"...Angel of music...I..." She was completely delirious.

I had never seen anything like this. I was horrified and felt like a child, "Papa, what is happening?"

He quickly turned his head at me, "Charles get out now."

"Mama! Mama, can you hear me?"

"...Charles?"

"Get out now!" My father screamed. He quickly pushed me out and shut the door. I heard the latch locking.

My fists were pounding against the door. I needed to see her, I needed to show her! "Mama! Mama! Please let me in!" I could not see a thing, not even the walls in front of me. I was blinded by my tears. Time made no sense, I had no idea how long I was there. I did not even realize I was on the ground until my father came out of the door. He just stared at me. We were both in the same state.

He breathed in, "Charles..."

"No!" I leaped at him and almost made him fall over, I was taller than him and pulling him by the collar, "No, you should have done more, you should have done something!"

"Charles please." He had no fight in him, he was just letting me pull him around.

"You should have-" I sobbed, "I should-"

Then he just held me there, "I know. I know."

I choked out, "I finished the song."

* * *

Her funeral was gloomy. A grey sky stretched into every corner imaginable, not a shred of sunlight was let in. It was very populated. Friends and colleagues from around the world came to pay their respects. That was the gloomy part. Why does someone so clearly loved have to die in such a slow painful way?

The rest of the evening was spent receiving condolences. I wanted to strangle all of them. The Girys tried to make me feel better by telling me stories of her Opera Populaire days. They did not realize that the whole time I was picturing the look on her face when she lost her voice.

I had to lock up the piano parlor the next day. All my music and notes were in there. I took the key and hid it in a place no one could find it. It would not be touched. It did not matter. Not anymore.


	7. Disclosed

_**A/N: I copy pasted a few parts of my other story at the beginning. I knew I could not just skip over a moment as important as Charles finding out about Erik, so I put some lines in here. EDIT: Only as a personal choice, I did not give Erik his name because I have always preferred the idea of him being nameless.**_

 _"Charles!" Raoul was putting on his coat, "Come on, tear yourself away from the music for a moment. It is time to go."_

 _"One moment papa," he locked his music away, ever protective, "Where are we going?"_

 _"The opera house, I want to show you something."_

 _..._

 _"This was your father's home."_

 _"…Your home?" Charles was breathing heavy, Raoul just wanted to hold him and tell him that it was all going to be okay, that this was not meant to change them._

 _"We both know that is not what I am talking about."_

 _..._

 _For the first time in his life Charles felt like a little boy. A helpless little boy. Yes, Raoul would always be his father. But Charles could not deny that he always felt like something was off. This explained everything. The off comments, the whispered conversations between the maids, he was the sun of a madman._

 _Charles found himself wandering around the strange house in search of something tangible of his biological father. He found some old unfinished pieces of music scattered along the furniture but not much else other than shattered mirrors. He came across some drawings of his mother. She was much younger, around his age. Some of them were of her sitting in the very room he was standing in. Charles had never seen such skill in simple drawings._

 _Then he came across a very different portrait with considerably less skill but still quite beautiful. The man in the portrait was wearing a striking white mask contrasting against his black hair. So this was the man in question._

* * *

The opera house was perfectly silent. Not even a single speck of dust was being disturbed. Underneath two people sat quietly in the dim light. The man was reading a book. He had a uncanny ability to be so still in seemed as if he was a statue. The woman was lying on her side. She on the other hand was moving around often, glancing at the man.

The man, remaining still, looked sideways at the woman through his mask, "What are you smiling at?"

"Hm?" She furrowed her brow in concentration at the board and paper she was holding.

Still not looking up from his book he kept on, "You were laughing."

"I was?"

"Yes. Or could you not hear it?" The man's lips stayed in an apathetic line, "I would not be surprised if that was the case based on how your voice lesson went today. I would not be surprised if you could not hear yourself at all."

Her tone changed to annoyed, "I told you I am feeling sick."

"Excuses," Now even he smiled a bit, "What _are_ you doing anyway?"

She pressed the board to her chest, "You are not allowed to see."

"What am I not allowed to see?"

She paused, hesitant to reveal more, "I am... drawing a picture."

This time the man turned to face her head on, "A picture? Of what, exactly?"

"Perhaps it is a portrait..."

"Christine..." He closed his eyes.

"Perhaps said portrait is... of you." She shrunk a little against the arm rest of the couch.

He reached his hand out, "Please give it to me."

"You need to learn to relax a little. I mean, you draw me all the time! It is just a simple drawing. I am almost done, when I finish you will love it."

"How can I love it? Who would want evidence of this?" He motioned to his face.

"Please, do not be so dramatic," She sulked, "Besides, only you and I will see it."

Christine was nowhere near heartbroken, but she was upset. It may have been the peacefulness of the day but he had a little more patience than usual, "Fine. You can finish. But as soon as you are done, that thing is going to be locked away."

She sat up immediately, "Good. Now I can stop trying to hide it." She pulled up a stool to sit right in front of him, "Carry on reading, I am not here."

"You are a little bit of a distraction."

She gave him a stern look, "Relax."

He tried to concentrate on his book but the entire time he was self conscious of Christine staring at him, trying to recreate him. To the best of his ability, he tried to make himself more appealing. Every so often he would put his hand on his chin or try to make his eyes look intense. He felt like a fool and was so lost in thought he jumped in his seat when Christine shouted.

"Done!" Christine grinned proudly.

He audibly gasped, "I am in the middle of a chapter, I will look at it when I am done."

"No you are not. You did not turn a single page the entire time." He was found out. "Do you want to see?" She knew he would be nervous about seeing his likeness etched out in front of him. Although, she was not an experienced artist, so she did not understand what he had to fear.

He just shook his head, "All right. Get it over with." Christine nervously turned the board around. She watched his expression carefully. His head moved slightly as if he was surprised. Slowly he reached to take the portrait out of her hands. She did not know if he would tear it up. Instead he just stared at it.

The angles were drawn sharp for the contours of the mask. However, the skin that was visible was done with soft curved lines. Even his eyes, that had been exaggerated to myth, said to burn people, were soft and glowing rather than burning. The strangest part was there was a little smile on his lips. This caused him to laugh, "You drew me smiling?" He looked quizzically at Christine.

She pushed her brows together, "You were. I draw what I saw."

"I was smiling?"

"Yes, you did not notice?"

"No," He stared back at the portrait, "I am just surprised that is all. You were very generous with this."

"That is just how you look."

"I have seen my reflection, even with this mask I am not really 'easy on the eyes' if you will."

"I guess," she paused to look down for a moment but returned his gaze, "That is just how I see you."

It was not a strange sensation for him to feel uncomfortable at his own appearance. The reason for his discomfort this time, however, was unusual, "Thank you Christine. This is very good."

Christine jumped up, "You are keeping it?"

He shifted in his seat, "Of course."

She wanted to hug him, but she could sense his tension. Instead she settled for squeezing his hand. She took the portrait and immediately went looking for a place to display it.

* * *

Raoul was going through the mail trying to distract his mind from the events from today. Charles was right, he was too young to know, it was too early. The boy was only seventeen, Raoul should have waited a few years. Still, he felt the need to carry out his wife's wishes. With Christine's will there was a letter meant to be disclosed to Charles only. It used to be hidden away, but now it was sitting on the table in front of Raoul, looking like any other message. Raoul meant to throw it away, knowing what it must contain. The morning of her death she had told Raoul of her intention to tell Charles the truth. He never had the heart to destroy it though, they were Christine's last words to her son.

 _My dear Charles,_

 _There is so much to say, I am not sure this letter will do it justice. I know this disease is going to take me, so in case it happens sooner than expected and I can not fulfill this myself, I hope this will be enough. If you are reading this, it means your father has told you the truth about your parentage. I am sorry I am not there to explain myself. Still, I am ready to take responsibility for all of it. If you are angry please do not be angry at your father, he has paid his dues more than enough. I was the one who betrayed my family, not him. I hope you can forgive me. If you wish to continue reading I will try to give as honest as account of what happened as I am capable._

 _It was a very strange time in my life. As you know the Girys were my adoptive family but I still felt very much like an orphan. I had dreams of being a singer but I felt stuck as a chorus girl for so long. Then, this man came along. For quite a time he was a comfort in my life. He was my tutor but also my friend. I would sometimes even call him my Angel of Music. But, as you probably know by now the relationship changed. When your father came to the Opera Populaire it had been many years since we had seen each other, but we reconnected instantly. When we got engaged I knew I had to make a choice so I stopped seeing my friend and was spending much of my free time with your father. It ended in a confrontation but we both knew that my heart was with your father. The months before the wedding I missed my angel dearly. One day, I received a letter from him. He was dying and he asked if I would come see him one last time. When I saw him he begged for my forgiveness and he told me he loved me. I could not deny that I did love him too. While I still loved your father, I was not thinking of him during that time. It sounds harsh, but I was not thinking of any consequences. Until he died a mere day later._

 _You must want to know what this man was like. I am sure there are many conflicting details out there, but I knew him as an artist. He was a master composer who could create melodies unlike anything I had ever heard in my life, much like yourself. The music was hypnotic. I suppose he was like that as a man as well with his supernatural voice. He was an architect, magician, scientist, in short a genius. Sometimes he would play the violin until I fell asleep. Much of our time together was spent with music. To both of us, music was life. However he was horribly deformed from birth. It was the cruelty inflicted upon him in his childhood and adolescence that caused him to completely cut his ties to the world. Speaking to almost no one in the world. I believed there was a great kindness in him. Who knows, maybe I am under a mist now, but I could see it. He was so conscious of being gentle, scared to even touch me. He would not even kill a spider. I would like to think that, if he had the chance to meet you, he would have been freed. Freed from the idea that he could only destroy. He would finally know that he created something beautiful and strong. You are everything he would have wanted. You may here some terrible things about him. While I will not deny their validity, I would like you to know that there was such goodness in him. I see so much of it in you._

 _As you will learn there are people who will come into your life who you will be drawn to and who will affect you greatly. Sometimes you can not even make sense of what you feel for these people. The only important part is that you find someone who will stand by you even if you fail them. I hope I have not failed you._

 _While I will always regret the pain I put your father through, I do not regret anything I did. I had you, and you became my world. Already I can see what a great man you are becoming and I attribute this to the way your father raised you. My beloved family. I hope all this will explain everything you have been feeling and going through, those things you can not explain, that voice in your head. Be happy Charles. I am still with you._

 _With all my love,_

 _Your Mother_

The handwriting was sloppy, some parts being nearly unreadable. It must have been written near the end of the illness. For two years Raoul debated over telling Charles. He almost ripped up the letter several times. It would be forgotten and Charles would never have to know. Still, he could not get over the nagging guilt of denying Christine her final wish. He was still so frustrated and more importantly, terrified.

But now, it was done and there was no going back. Raoul could hear music throughout the house, and he knew it was not Charles' own work. As much as the boy tried to conceal it, Raoul could see tons of sheets peaking out from his coat. Raoul sighed. He had lived with a ghost for so long. He did not know what was better, living with secrets or with the truth.

The best moments were clear. Raoul would sit in the audience at one of Charles' performances and would beam. This is his son. This is what he and Christine raised. They made him into the man he is today. All Raoul would have to do is to remind himself of that and he would swell with pride.

The music had stopped.

Charles had entered and was staring at his shoe, "Did he have a name?"

Raoul put his pen down, "I never heard your mother call him by a name."

"Oh," He thought perhaps he should leave, "Um, do you, um..."

"Is there anything else I know about him?"

Charles just nodded his head, still unable to make eye contact.

"Do not be worried about asking me." Raoul motioned for Charles to sit, "I do not know too much, but a few things your mother told me. She actually wrote this letter for you." He finally handed it over.

Charles posture shot up, he was shocked, "From mother?"

Raoul nodded, "It was only meant for you, but I must admit I did read it. Everything you want to know about him is in there."

"Thank you," Charles hugged his father, "For everything."

Raoul laughed at the burst of affection, "You have a lot in common you know, you have his eyes."


	8. Ring

I needed to silence the world of stupidity the managers were running above. The off key wailing was sending me into a rage. Those two did not know a thing about art. Once again I was stuck at the mess of music before me. For the life of me nothing would come. I had already broken a few vases. I needed to get away.

Of course, away from my compositions I started thinking of Christine. Was she seeing that boy again? Were they together right now? My patience was running thin. I would need to put a stop to this before it became anything too serious. Ah, but if I harmed the stupid boy Christine would be angry with me. She would never forgive me. But what do I need forgiveness for? Why should I care about the way she looks at me, it does not matter at all. Not at all. As long as she is here.

Then there is that picture she made of me. The fact that she actually depicted me with an even slightly kind demeanor is laughable. She had to go and tell me that that is how she sees me. She was so pleased when I told her I would keep it. I kept my word, I did not take it down. But every time I walked past it it would mock me. This is why you have not taken her away yet. She would start to see me as I truly am.

What kind of life would I give her? Force her to be my wife and then... I did not know. Maybe we would be stuck down here forever, maybe we would leave. It would be a joint custody agreement between me and the rest of the world. I get weekdays they get weekends. What if we had a child? Me, a father. The thought made me laugh. The child would be some deformed monster. Christine would be stuck to stare at what her life had become every day.

My mind was a storm. I did not know what to do anymore, this girl has made me lost. I could feel whatever sanity I had start to slip away. Who knows what the future has in store.

* * *

The dress still fit. I would have breathed a sigh of relief if I was not worried the dress would spontaneously rip open. Two months pregnant on my wedding day. I felt the need to burst into tears. What had I done? I had just thrown my whole life away. If Raoul did not notice now, he would realize it soon enough. Surely I would be alone again.

Would the baby be alright? Would it looks like its father? If it did, surely everyone would know. I would become the laughing stock of Paris. My father must be rolling in his grave. This is not the life he wanted for me. I was lost. Maybe I better just disappear now and save both myself and Raoul the embarrassment. There was no way I could marry him now in good conscience.

But maybe he would understand, maybe I could tell him and we could disappear together. How do you tell your future husband that you are having his rival's child?

I was frozen, staring at myself in the mirror. I needed to make a decision soon.

But it seemed that fate had already decided for me, "Mademoiselle? It is time." I glanced in the mirror one more time before I got ready to walk down the aisle. No matter what happened I would love this child.

I turned to the woman meant to escort me to the church, "Am I glowing?"

* * *

We had our heads leaned back to the sun. I had weighed anchor and _Le Soleil D'or_ was bobbing with the waves. Over the past few years I had gained a level of fame in France. Some people from around the globe would even come to see me perform. I could have had my pick of cities to call home being a sought after composer, however I preferred to stay in Paris.

When I was twenty one, father offered to leave home. I was to inherit our home when I was married anyway, and I had just gotten engaged to Marie and gave her mother's ring. Even after we returned from the honeymoon I insisted he stay. He thought I was just taking pity on an old man. I just felt better when he was around, besides he was by himself. It caused no inconvenience whatsoever. Plus, he and Marie got along well. Her parents were still not too keen on her singing, but I had her as a special guest for one of my performances and now she is slowly integrating herself into the Parisian Opera Company. It was the turn of the century and I could sense a new era. It was truly a new world.

Still, whenever we went out on the boat, I felt like time stood still for some time. It felt like forever ago and simultaneously like just yesterday that mother died. Her impact on both of our lives was still here, as it always would be. If there is an afterlife, I hope she is at peace. She suffered her whole life and her death was no different. Sometimes I think I hear her singing only to run to an empty parlor.

"Charles?" Father sat back up staring at me, "Did you hear me?"

I rubbed my eyes, "I am sorry, I was in deep thought."

"I asked if you knew what time it is. Remember, Marie told you to meet her at the bakery at seven."

I checked my watch, "It is about five, it will take us about an hour to get back to shore."

"Good, we still have some time."

Even though we were technically still living in the same space, I hardly got to spend time with father. I was always being called out for performances all over the country and sometimes even abroad. When I was home I was working a lot, and I was spending more time with Marie. I knew he understood. I upheld our tradition of the annual boat trip though.

He spoke up again, "Things are going well between you too still?"

"You live with us, you know."

"I do not know everything."

"Well it is still wonderful. In fact..." A sly grin crossed my face. I could not wait to see his expression when I told him

"What?"

"Marie is pregnant." I was so giddy I covered my face I was smiling so much, "I can not believe it. I am going to be a father." I was terrified, I did not know the first thing about being a father. Luckily I had Marie by my side.

"I am going to be a grandfather?" He almost seemed more excited than myself, "Well if your child is anything like you, you should be terrified. You used to try to bite people."

"That is not true."

"It is, I have a scar!"

Mother had always teased me about the day I got married and had children of my own. I just never expected to see this day without her. I was struck with a certain melancholy. New beginnings were ahead and the past was getting farther and farther away.

The sun had started to near the horizon. It was time to get back to shore.

* * *

Everything had gone by the book. Except Charles insisted that he be in the room with Marie when the child was born. He had quite a fight with the doctor who insisted he leave, but he was anchored toward her side. I was waiting in the opposite wing, trying to find the perfect champagne to celebrate with.

Soon enough Charles' voice was calling my name and he rushed through the door. He grabbed my arm and was pulling me across the house, "Charles slow down!" I was not quite ready to admit my age.

He ignored the comment and just pulled me along like I was nothing, "Marie, is he still awake?"

I saw the little bundle in her arms. Like his mother, his hair was straight and dark and he had a heart shaped face. However, just like Charles he had the glowing amber eyes and long thin nose. "Congratulations you two. What have you decided to name him?"

Marie looked at Charles and smiled, "Well, we decided about a month ago that if we were to have a boy, we were going to name him Raoul."

I was taken aback. Charles was never the most affectionate. He seldom verbalized his feelings for other people, let alone showed it physically, and doing something like this. Well, this was amazing. I thought I needed to sit down for a moment, "Really?"

"What else would be better?" Charles leaned down to pick his son up, "Would you like to hold him?"

I nodded, unable to speak. As I held little Raoul in my arms all my fears had been wiped away. I would not vanish from this world, from Charles' life. It would all continue, as it has before I came into this world, and as it will long after I leave it. For the first time in many many years, I was truly calm.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thank you for reading everyone! I had a really good time writing this story and I hope you enjoyed it. But I felt like it was time to close it up. Thank you again.**_


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